


The Grand Duchess

by dancer4813



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Gen, Poetry, Prose Poem, Wildemount Campaign, season 2 episode 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 22:10:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13773594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancer4813/pseuds/dancer4813
Summary: There are moments whenthe depth is too great;when delving deepinto onesselfis the only way to feel,to grow, to move forward.Inspired by what little of Shakäste's backstory we managed to get this episode.





	The Grand Duchess

**Author's Note:**

> So Khary Payton was great and his voice sounds lovely and also he gave me feelings, and so this was spawned as a result of that. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3

“No, call me ‘Grand Duchess’!”  
she says, standing tall, eyes shining  
with the mirth of youth.  
He laughs - from deep within him

joy bubbles forth and Stacy,  
never one to sit patiently for her full  
name, joins him in the chorus.  
She pours him a drink 

from the worn teakettle,  
liquid flows, filling their cups  
without causing them to overflow.  
He is proud. 

“One day I’ll fly, Papa!”  
she says, with dreams higher  
than he is old. “One day I’ll be  
the fastest bird there is, and 

I’ll fly as far as I can.”  
He chuckles, and asks if  
she’ll go on adventures  
without him. 

“Papa, you’re so silly,”  
she scolds, shaking her head,  
rolling her eyes. “What sort of  
adventure would it be 

if you didn’t come with?”  
He admits his mistake and their  
cups come together with a light  
‘clink’, meeting in a brief moment  
of silence.   
  


As trees bloom and leaves fall  
and snow muffles steps through  
the woods, he sits, day after day.  
He listens, as if by waiting he might hear

her voice on the wind,  
calling, calling out to his old heart  
sinews strained from decades of life,  
vision all but gone, with only

the brightest colors catching his eye.  
He imagines the dresses she once wore,  
his little Anastasia, the Grand  
Duchess of the household, 

the shimmering colors of fabric  
rich in the light of the dying sun  
filling his memory. He concentrates  
on the coal, the scents around him, 

the rush of wind through the trees, the  
flow of air through wild locks, and  
feels the energy flow forth, consuming  
what lies on the ground in front of him. 

The spark of a new consciousness tells him  
the spell worked. It’s another couple of days  
to find a pond still enough to see through  
her eyes, to see the rich blues and green 

of his Duchess’s feathers,  
wings beating so fast that  
they’re a blur too fast for  
a mortal eye to catch. 

He is proud.  
And tears fall from his  
unseeing eyes, unseen  
except by the birds, the wind, 

and blown away by  
the rush of life flying by.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at dancer4813 or dancerwrites


End file.
